


I’ve Got a Spy On the Inside

by ASongofIceandHope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, Inspired by Indiana Jones, Spy Hermione Granger, Tomione Day, Tumblr: tomione-day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofIceandHope/pseuds/ASongofIceandHope
Summary: Hermione Granger goes off to try and stop the Germans from gaining an important artifact, but finds their head archaeologist nothing short of distracting. *Happy Tomione Day!*





	I’ve Got a Spy On the Inside

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of jumped the gun and published this before midnight because I couldn’t wait! This is a bit different from my original idea that I posted on tumblr because I got what I personally think is a better idea. I hope you all enjoy!

_1936_

“... Do you have any idea what they could be looking for, Agent Granger?”

Hermione sat back in her chair and rubbed a hand over her face. The fact that two high-ranking British officers were standing in her office wasn’t necessarily unusual; she had crossed paths with their kind plenty of times. But the fact that they were asking her to stick her nose in Nazi business was absolutely unheard of. 

The fact of the matter was, though, that she had an idea of what they were looking for.

“I’ve got a hunch,” she admitted as she got to her feet and strode over to her overflowing bookshelf. “Though I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got. You said they’re off in Petra, correct?” The taller of the two men nodded and she grabbed the worn journal tucked away in the shelf. “That makes me think that they’re looking for one thing...” With a small flourish, she opened the book and pushed the penciled illustration toward them. “They’re looking for the Holy Grail.” 

“Pardon?” The shorter, stouter man questioned.

“The Holy Grail,” Hermione explained. “It’s the cup Jesus drank from at the Last Supper? In Grail Lore it’s supposed to grant whoever is worthy enough to drink from it eternal life.”

“Three guesses as to why Hitler wants it,” the taller one muttered to his friend before focusing back on Hermione. “How soon can you get to Petra?”

“I can catch a plane tonight,” Hermione assured. 

The two officers turned to walk out of the room, but before they exited the short one stopped. “I hope you understand how important this mission is,” he said. “You must keep that artifact out of the hands of the Nazis at all costs.” 

“I know.”

*****

When Hermione got off the plane in Amman, she met up with fellow agent Charlie Weasley who had been in the protectorate when word came in that some Nazis were excavating near Petra. 

“They’ve got an ex-pat leading the excavation,” he told her as they rode off in the direction of the ancient city in an open-air car. “A Welshman by the name of Tom Riddle. Rumor has it he was a rising intellectual at Oxford specializing in Arthurian Grail Lore before he became chummy with the Nazi elite. British Intelligence would like to have him arrested and returned to the isles so he can be interrogated.”

“So I assume the task of getting him back to England is also on my shoulders?” Hermione questioned.

“Yes, I believe so,” Charlie hummed.

“Well tell me what I need to know,” Hermione sighed as they sped off into the desert.

*****

The one thing Charlie forgot to mention about Tom Riddle?

The man was drop-dead handsome. 

Charlie had managed to get her a pass to work on the site, and Hermione posed as an excavation specialist — something she would have become if she’d been allowed to pursue an advanced degree in archaeology. Still, she had spent plenty of time at dig sites with her father and uncle growing up that she knew what she was getting into.

Until she was told to report to “Herr” Riddle.

He was standing on a nearby hill, dressed in a white linen shirt and light-colored trousers. Unlike many of the other men at the site, he wore no hat and had a slight sunburn on his face. But the reddened complexion did not lessen how attractive he was; he looked like Hollywood’s version of a spy — tall and trim with wind-blown dark hair and dark blue eyes. 

He was dashing. 

And it made Hermione mad.

“Ah, Miss Graves,” he greeted. His accent was unmistakably posh, she noted; he made no pretenses of hiding his British origins. “I was delighted to hear that we finally hired someone to fill one of the specialist posts, and when I heard we’d hired a woman, well, you can imagine how much I desired to meet such a remarkable individual.”

“I wouldn’t consider myself remarkable,” Hermione stated. “I simply grew up around all this. It’s second nature.”

“Of course, of course,” he smiled slightly at her and Hermione reminded herself that the man was a traitor to his country and working for one of the most despicable regimes in Europe. “If you don’t have any plans this evening, I’d like to discuss the excavation progress thus far with you over dinner.”

“As you wish, sir,” Hermione said. 

*****

He was staring at her peculiarly halfway through their dinner.

“What is it?” Hermione asked. 

“Do you make it a habit to wear... trousers?” he inquired.

Against her better judgement, she blushed. 

“I do a lot of man’s work,” she replied. “It only makes sense that I not be restricted by a skirt.” Hermione’s gaze wandered to the bottle of white wine that they both had almost killed. She was starting to feel the effects of the well-aged wine, but doubted whether or not Riddle was.

“I’d like to see you in a dress,” he said, almost in passing.

Hermione gaped at him.

“W-Well, I didn’t bring one,” she countered. 

Riddle said nothing in response and rose to his feet, walking to the trunk in the far corner of his tent opposite his cot. He lifted the lid and pulled out a white box. Hermione raised a brow and watched as he carried it back over to the small table and set it down in front of her so she could read the name on the box in bold lettering.

“Now how is a man like you affording Chanel in the middle of an international economic disaster?” she asked. “And do you make it a habit of traveling with women’s clothes?”

“The circles I rotate in at home are... demanding,” Riddle explained. “I tend to pick out my date’s evening gowns myself rather than risk some mindless twit showing up in something less than becoming. You’ll find, if I do say so myself, that I have rather good taste.” 

Hermione lifted the top of the box off and moved some of the tissue paper out of the way and stared for a moment. 

She had never seen such a beautiful gown up close in person. With a fair amount of caution, Hermione stood up as she lifted it out of the box so she could see all of it; the silhouette was sleek and stylish, with a skirt that flared out slightly and was trimmed with a band of white silk. The back plunged deeply, she noted, before looking at Riddle. 

“You do have good taste,” she admitted.

“Try it on,” he instructed, bringing his wine glass to his lips. 

Hermione slipped behind a changing screen and undressed, throwing her taupe blouse and trousers over the screen before taking off her brassiere and slipping into the dress. It fit perfectly, which made Hermione nervous; by her figure, at least, it appeared she was his type. She hesitantly stepped out from behind the screen. 

Riddle said nothing and lounged back and looked at her. Eventually, he rose to his feet and stood in front of her, brushing a long finger across her bare shoulder. 

“Stunning,” he complimented. “You would turn heads even in the heart of Paris.”

Hermione snorted. “I doubt it, but thank you.” She knew it was time to turn the conversation elsewhere. “So what’s a Brit like you doing out here working for the Germans?”

“I could ask you the same,” he retorted.

“I grew up lots of places, so I suppose you could say I don’t have much loyalty to any one place,” she said smoothly. It wasn’t really a lie.

“I suppose I feel the same,” Riddle hummed. “Though Great Britain has never done anything to inspire much loyalty in me.”

Hermione did not react to his words but took note of what he said. 

Riddle looked her over once more. “You can keep the dress,” he told her. “It suits you. And maybe when this is all over I’ll take you somewhere where you’ll need it.”

*****

“They don’t suspect you of anything?”

Tom frowned, holding the secure phone tighter. “No, neither the Germans nor the British spy suspect anything.”

“Good, good. America owes you a debt for your service, Tom. When you’re done, you’ll get the professorship you want and much more.”

“Thank you, sir.”

*****

He was digging in the wrong place.

Hermione realized that on the third day. Yet Riddle acted perfectly confident despite the fact that Hermione was sure he knew that they were digging in the wrong place. 

She knew because she had seen the right place circled on one of his maps.

*****

“I’ll tell you my secret when you tell me yours.”

Hermione was putting away some of her gear when the voice came from the entrance to her tent. She froze, but quickly recovered from her surprise to turn and face Riddle. She dusted her hands off on her trousers and crossed her arms.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she huffed.

Riddle laughed and stepped inside. “Please. I know you’re from British Intelligence. You’re here to make sure the Nazis don’t get their hands on the Grail, aren’t you?” 

Hermione looked him over. He wasn’t armed, which was something that would be to her advantage if they got into a scuffle. She’d taken down men of his size before and made it look like an accident.

“I am. So what’s your secret?” she raised a brow.

“I’m doing the same thing, but for the Americans,” he replied. “I know you saw my maps. You know I’m purposefully misleading them. Therefore, I propose we work together.”

After Riddle showed her his papers and his American Visa, Hermione realized that he was, surprisingly, on her side.

“Well,” she sighed, “it looks like you’ve got a partner.”

*****

_1940_

_Cambridge, Massachusetts_

“Professor Riddle, may we have a word?” Two government officials stood in the doorway of Tom’s Harvard classroom. “We’re afraid it’s rather urgent.”

“Of course,” he motioned for them to come in. “Have you called my wife?”

“We have,” one of the men confirmed.

“And?”

“She has your assignment. You’ll be on a steamer to Southampton tomorrow morning and then British Intelligence will smuggle the two of you into Paris. Rumor has it the Nazis are searching for the Spear of Destiny.”

Tom headed home to the Boston townhouse that he and Hermione had bought after their first mission together with one thought in his head:

She’d finally get the chance to wear that dress.

**Author's Note:**

> So they’re a happy spy couple thwarting Nazis together! Yay! Also wouldn’t that be so like Tom to be that spy that goes *so* undercover that other spy agencies have no idea who he is or what he’s really working on? 
> 
> I hope you all liked it!


End file.
